Nu-metal. A genre that for the last couple years has defied the odds, and surprised most critics by remaining popular in spite of all its shortcomings. 40 Below Summer’s sophomore tragedy, The Mourning After is the poster child for nu-metal these days; countless three chord guitar riffs pounded into the listener’s ears while a half-melodic, half-wailing vocalist cries about girlfriend angst and abusive parents. *Sigh* It feels like I’ve written this before, dissecting other equally incompetent bands that are so terrified of creating a unique sound with actual musical progression that they continually fall back on the same old song structures until the listener screams in absolute anguish. So who’s responsible for the degeneration of a once respectable genre? Are record companies tying artists’ hands to turn a profit, instead of letting them express their creativity? Are the artists just not trying anymore, wanting to play it safe with an emotionally bankrupt sound that would have most people laughing at its triteness? I know one thing, if a widespread virus somehow annihilated all the band’s CD’s, I would not mourn their demise, and neither should you.

There were ominous signs that this disc would be an utterly failed disaster right from the first moment I plugged this CD into my computer. Initially, it refused to play anything on Windows Media, until I figured out you had to download the songs from the CD onto the hard drive to use this device. Nothing like getting on my bad side right off the bat. It’s like handing in a major essay and misspelling the teacher’s name. At last, the lead single Self Medicate blasted off. Built around some solid vocal hooks courtesy of front man Max Illidige, this really wasn’t too shabby at all. The twin guitars rock with sizeable energy, and drummer Carlos Aguilar gets a good workout on the kit without overdoing it. A botched attempt at being a creepy atmospheric number, Taxi Cab Confession just reeks of cliches. Hearing Illidige scream, “Can I get an amen?” had me literally wincing in pain.

It’s hard to describe Rain. It’s so bland it feels like it could be cloned from any substandard nu-metal song released in the past five years. The only way you’ll enjoy this track is if you’ve chugged five beers prior to listening. Breathless makes amends, lead by an unusually ripe, emotional vocal performance. While a five year old could probably learn the guitar lines in less time than this song’s running length (3: 46), the grandiose chorus erases the rather dim witted lyrics of girlfriend trouble. I’d like to stick a red-hot lance through Better Life, which is so overdone with phony wails of suffering and hopelessness it makes Korn’s music seem positively innovative. The final quality song arrives in the form of Monday Song. For once containing intelligent lyrics and a thrashing chorus that holds nothing back, this track expertly switches from soft to heavy. It won’t break any new ground, but for the limited abilities of these five musicians, it’s pretty good.

I wish bands would record a ten second clip on the CD to warm people of how atrocious the conditions will get if they progress further. It sure would save me a lot of headache, and wasted time. F.E. or F*ck Everything actually throws in a lively guitar hook to get things going, only to crash and burn once the vocals appear on scene. Awakening and Alienation. Pick your poison. It’s like drinking sulfuric acid or liquid nitrogen, you’re screwed either way. The final cut, A Season in Hell (and a fitting description of my time spent with this album), is another hokey religious based anthem that we’ve all heard thousands of times before. The song’s length is listed at 16: 16, but seven minutes of that is silence, and a bonus track is tacked on at the end…you might enjoy it if you haven’t already fallen asleep or stuffed dynamite in your ears.

Does it seem like nu-metal’s window of success has been closing rather quickly in recent years? Perhaps it’s from the unfortunate abundance of such cut and paste music like 40 Below Summer’s lethargic sophomore ‘slump’. I say slump in quotations because their first record is likely equally abysmal, so this mess can’t really be considered a letdown of any sorts. Outside of a few moderately satisfying songs, The Mourning After should be promptly shipped back to the black hole from which it came. The vocals are often understandable, but then swiftly change to childish screaming, which ruins the whole experience. The guitars are linear and unimaginative, but that could easily sum up the other instruments as well. It’s albums like this monstrosity that may ultimately lead to the rapidly advancing doom of nu-metal. Maybe it’s time we embrace this fact, and move on.

Final Rating: 1.5 Stars

Recommended: No